I can hear it playing,
Yet feel it coursing through my veins.
Pumping my blood with its rythm.
Running wild through my frame.


Filling in every empty mass.
Retrieving lost remains.
Rearanging my thoughts.


I'm new.
Affixed.
Secure.


Listening to it come to an end.
I can no longer feel.
No blood pulsing in my veins.
A walking corpse is what I am.
Only a metaphor of life it's self.


Anticipating for it too begin,
So I can once feel again.